Chloe tries to live a normal life as a student at California State University, but when strange things start to happen, shoe consults a Candomblé priestess to find out what’s what
At the priestess’s summons, Oya, the African Orisha of the wind, sweeps Chloe out of 21st century Los Angeles into the world of Ayodele, her 19th century ancestor on a Virginia tobacco plantation.
As women and as African Americans they struggle to decide which costs more, fulfilling their dreams or letting them die—and which price are they willing to pay?
"Go two blocks and turn right,” said her GPS.
"Get a good education so you can get a good job,” said her mother.
"Never date a man who can't give you his phone number. He might be
married,” said her best friend.
"Take the core classes first and then the electives,” said her
Chloe shook her head. She had no taste for the blue pill, but everyone
thought it was their business to try jamming it down her throat—even
inanimate talking machines. She went three blocks and turned left. The
machine adjusted to her new position. "Go one block and turn left.”
"Oh shut up.”
Downtown Los Angeles didn't offer too many scenic routes, but she could
smell the pizza that boasted of being made with New York City tap water
wafting down 6th-Street—a street she wasn't supposed to be on. It
wasn't on the itinerary mapped out by the global satellite. She savored
the smell and didn't care. She crossed Broadway and hooked a left on Los
Angeles. A Greyhound bus nearly swiped her on its way to its terminal.
Okay, time to pay attention, she thought. Look out for pedestrians. Look
out for other cars. Look out for traffic lights, stop signs, and don't
miss her turn-off. So much energy expended just to get to school. And
the reward, her mother assured her, would be a job working for someone
else. Some ache inside told Chloe she was born for more. None of her
advisors had a clue about what was going on inside her. Everyone wanted
to play it safe. Whatever happened to the "Give me liberty or give me
death” mentality? Chloe didn't know anyone like that. She knew only
the common sense folks. She knew only this centrifugal directive away
from her center—away from her dreams.
Excerpted from "The Crossroads of Time (Orisha Series Book 1)" by Rhonda Denise Johnson. Copyright © 2013 by Rhonda Denise Johnson. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher. Excerpts are provided solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Rhonda Denise Johnson
As a reader, I'm fascinated by well written fantasy novels. As a writer, I find that magic just naturally works it's way into my stories, even when I'm not purposefully writing a straight-up fantasy novel.
View full Profile of Rhonda Denise Johnson